


Grenade

by beanko



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanko/pseuds/beanko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gideon and Mitchell are assigned to go on what seems like an easy mission together.  Something goes wrong along the way. (Takes place when they all still worked for Atlas.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grenade

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished the game today and I love it. And I am shipping trash and there's not enough for these two.

Gideon and Mitchell had been assigned to missions together many times. They worked together often and, in Mitchell's opinion, they worked together well. Gideon was blunt and rough, with a foul mouth, but he was a good captain and an even better soldier. And Mitchell respected that.

But this would be their first time working alone together. 

Every other time, they were surrounded by other soldiers, backing them up and with them every step of the way. Now, it would be just them.

Mitchell wasn't even sure why he was chosen. Ilona apparently had other priorities (she was a mysterious woman and Mitchell wouldn't dare question her) and the mission was one that required stealth. So, Irons had simply instructed Gideon to take Mitchell along, because although Gideon could most likely handle this mission and fifty more like it by himself, one more wouldn't hurt. Mitchell wanted more experience on these kinds of missions anyway.

The mission was simple. Guard a diplomat. Although the diplomat wasn't high level, there was suspicion of him being targeted. Mitchell and Gideon just had to walk the diplomat to the armored truck. 

Frankly, to Mitchell, it seemed a little below Atlas-level missions.

Now they were in a helicopter, about to touch down to their destination. And Mitchell suddenly felt hyper-aware.

It would just be him and Gideon. That sounded painfully awkward. Enough tension-laced silence to last them both a lifetime. 

Even though they had been on many missions together, it was just a lot of shooting, not much talking. Mitchell didn't even know much about Gideon besides the fact that he was British and he had been working for Atlas for a very long time.

He noted the small tattoo on Gideon's neck. It was the English flag (and what else would he have expected?).

"Nice tattoo," he blurted out. Gideon raised an eyebrow.

Well, that didn't sound stupid at all.

"You feelin' alright, Mitchell?" Gideon questioned. His voice was thick with sarcasm.

"Yep. Fine." Mitchell replied quietly, averting his eyes to the floor.

He suddenly wished helicopters moved much faster than this.

The whir of blades slowed, and the helicopter touched down slowly in front of a small brick building in the middle of a forest. 

It was a strange place to pick up a diplomat, but admittedly cautious.

Gideon and Mitchell hopped out, and the helicopter took off. It would pick them up again at the drop-off site for the diplomat.

The diplomat, a small and nervous Asian man, tumbled out of the house and in front of the Atlas soldiers.

"This way, sir." Gideon said, his voice flat. He led the way and Mitchell flanked the back. 

They trudged through the forest silently until Mitchell felt like his brain was going to burst. 

It was so quiet. So very quiet. The diplomat was quiet and Gideon was quiet and he was quiet and for some reason, he felt the urge to fill the silent air.

"So, uh, how about that weather, huh?" he said awkwardly.

Wow. He should probably shoot himself later. The weather? Seriously? 

"Mitchell, shut up." Gideon growled.

"Yeah, sorry--"

"No, Mitchell, shut UP." he hissed. "Do you hear that?"

Mitchell listened carefully. Then he heard it. The small crack of branches being crunched underfoot, the rustle of leaves--

Gideon grabbed the diplomat and slammed him to the ground just as shots erupted from the forestry around them.

Mitchell hit the ground, ripping out his weapon and steadying his aim. 

There. Behind a tree, he caught a glimpse of an arm. He fired.

There was a grunt of pain, and a masked man dropped dead to the ground.

The kill did little to stem the frenzy of bullets around them. One zipped dangerously close to Gideon's head, and Mitchell felt his heart skip a beat.

"Mitchell!" Gideon roared, "Here, take him! Get him to the drop site! I've got things here."

Gideon unceremoniously shoved the whimpering diplomat towards him and Mitchell caught him. 

"But--"

"Go! We don't have all day!" Gideon whipped out his gun and began firing.

Mitchell grabbed the diplomat by the elbow and bolted.

Soon, the rattling noise of gunfire began to die and Mitchell slowed down. The diplomat wheezed.

"Okay, sir, we may not be out of danger yet, so please--"

There was a soft click and Mitchell felt something bump into his foot. He glanced down.

Oh, shit.

Mitchell grabbed the diplomat and ran, faster than he ever had before, just as the grenade went off. 

The powerful blast threw them both into the air. Mitchell could feel pain wrack his body. As he was airborne, out of the corner of his eye he saw the diplomat smash into a tree and slide to the ground. 

He heard the sickening crunch of his own body hit the floor, and a jolt ran through his spine. 

Everything went black.

\----------------------

Gideon put a bullet in the final attacker's head. Bodies were strewn about him, all masked men. He had spotted the last one up in the trees, probably to throw grenades or some shit. 

There was suddenly a large blast in the distance, echoing through the forest and shaking the trees. 

"Shit," he whispered to himself. He pulled out his communicator.

"Oi. This is Gideon. Mitchell come by with the diplomat yet?"

"No, we're still waiting on your arrival."

Shit. 

He switched communicator channels. "Mitchell. Can you hear me? I want your location right now."

No response.

Goddammit. 

It was a fucking trap. They wanted one of them to break away with the diplomat, so they could--

Mitchell. Was Mitchell okay? What was his condition? And, while those questions were being asked, why the fuck was he so worried about Mitchell? It wasn't like he cared that much. Hell, he should be more worried about the diplomat.

Maybe he cared. Just a little.

But this was a prime example of why caring too much wasn't good. Because it was like what Gideon was experiencing right now. His heart was pounding and he was sweating and he kept nervously cracking his knuckles. Where was Mitchell?

It was entirely possible that there were pieces of Mitchell blown around the forest. But it was just as possible that Mitchell was alive and well, with the diplomat in tow.

Gideon spoke into the communicator again. "I'm gonna need you to check the heat signatures in the area."

"On it." There was a moment of agonizing silence. "There's only one other heat signature besides you. About three-quarters of a mile north."

Gideon felt his spirits rise, then crash. It was either Mitchell or the diplomat. Which meant that either Mitchell or the diplomat was dead. 

It was time for a search party. Composed of him and only him. He was probably the best searcher he knew, alongside of Ilona. 

All he could do was pray that Mitchell was still alive. If he wasn't, Gideon would find a way to summon his spirit so he could slaughter him all over again as punishment for dying.

\----------------------------

Mitchell opened his eyes groggily. He was staring up at the forest canopy. 

Slowly and painfully, he turned his head to his right. The diplomat was dead; his neck had broken instantly when he hit the tree.

He had failed the mission.

Everything hurt. He knew he was bleeding but he wasn't sure where. He knew he had broken bones but he didn't bother to check. 

He tried to roll over and push himself upwards. Immediately, his left leg collapsed beneath him. The bone was snapped in half. It was useless.

Mitchell grabbed a nearby tree for support and pulled himself up. His fingers screamed with pain. It looked like three fingers on his good hand were broken, too.

Gideon. He had to find Gideon. 

He coughed hard and groaned when he touched a hand to his mouth. He was coughing blood. Broken ribs, too.

If he could just find his captain, then he would be fine. 

\-------------------------

Gideon didn't want to scream out Mitchell's name to find him. There could be more enemies out there. It didn't seem likely, but he wasn't about to take that risk. Not when Mitchell was possibly injured.

He walked through the forest, glancing around in every possible direction so he wouldn't miss anything. 

"How far am I from the remaining heat signature?"

"Not far. I'd say a quarter of a mile. Just keep heading north."

The entire time he had searched, Gideon had done it on the assumption that Mitchell was alive. But it was possible he wasn't.

He didn't want to think about that. 

As hard as it was for him to admit it, he considered Mitchell a good friend and a good soldier. 

Off in the distance, he saw a body limping and grasping onto trees.

Definitely Mitchell.

Thank God. 

Gideon felt relief wash over him, but it was soon gone when he saw how badly Mitchell was limping.

He jogged over.

"Mate, y'alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

Gideon stared at the left leg that was twisted out of place and snapped, and his eyes traveled up to the trickle of blood down Mitchell's mouth. 

Against his own will, his heart rate sped up. Mitchell was not fine.

This thought was only confirmed when Mitchell fell forward, collapsing onto Gideon's shoulder. Gideon nearly stumbled backwards from the sudden weight.

He placed a hand on Mitchell's back to steady himself. "Mitchell, what the h--"

Gideon paused and removed his hand. It was covered with blood.

"Fuck me," he whispered when he adjusted Mitchell's body and examined the long, deep gash across his back. 

"I just... I hit something... When I fell. I think. It-It's fine, I can walk, just give me a second--"

"You bloody idiot, you try walking yourself now and you'll be walking right to Death's doorstep."

Gideon sent a transmission. "Have medical personnel ready. We are enroute to your location."

"Copy that," was the staticky reply.

"I'm... okay...I can walk." Mitchell said slowly. 

His whole body grew limp against Gideon's.

"Mitchell? Mitchell, goddammit. Wake up. Wake the fuck up."

Mitchell remained silent.

Gideon felt himself begin to panic. "Mitchell, if you don't fucking wake up right now, I will force you to do fifteen extra rounds of training every day."

Nothing.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Gideon hissed. He hefted Mitchell's ragdoll-like body over his shoulder and began to run as fast he could. "Stay with me, idiot." he murmured.

He wanted to convince himself that Mitchell was going to be fine, and just needed a cast and some stitches and bandages. But Mitchell had lost a lot of blood. The gash was deep. 

Fuck, he hated feeling unsure. And he hated feeling worried and panicked. Stupid goddamn Mitchell. 

Finally, sunlight peeked in through the thick trees, and Gideon burst out from the forest right in front of the waiting helicopter.

"Give me a hand," he yelled.

Obedient Atlas soldiers rushed over and removed Mitchell from his shoulders.

Gideon climbed into the helicopter and took a deep breath, leaning back. 

This was supposed to be an easy mission. Walk a guy to a helicopter. Gideon had done many missions like it in the past by himself. What the hell had happened here? Their client was dead, and one of them was seriously injured. 

Maybe Mitchell was bad luck. Who knows? 

Gideon glanced over at him. Medical officers had begun their work. He was still unconscious. Gideon looked away. 

\---------------------------

Gideon had always hated the medical dorms. It was full of sickness and death and it was so... sterile. 

Mitchell was put into surgery right after the helicopter touched down back at base. It felt like the longest helicopter ride of Gideon's life. 

Someone tapped his shoulder and he whipped around. It was Ilona. 

"You seem a bit jumpy," she said. 

Gideon only grunted in response.

"I heard what happened." Her voice was low. "Is Mitchell going to be all right?"

"Dunno. Surgery right now." Gideon replied, barely looking at her.

"And what happened to the client?"

"Dead."

Ilona raised an eyebrow. "I see. Irons was informed of the mission's failure. He may--"

"D'you think I give a shit about mission failure when Mitchell is in surgery?" Gideon snapped.

"Hey, you are not the only one worried about Mitchell." Ilona replied. "We are all scared. You're not alone in this, Gideon."

He hated knowing that she was right. 

Ilona shook her head and walked away, leaving Gideon waiting outside the operating room.

It was two more hours before a doctor came out and removed his surgical mask.  
Gideon immediately stood and went to him.

"Well?"

"It was a close call. That gash was pretty bad, and there were a lot of broken bones. To be specific, four broken ribs, three broken fingers, and a snapped leg. But he'll live. We gave him some blood." 

Gideon sighed in relief. "Anything else?"

"He's got bandages around his torso that need to be changed pretty often when he's released. He might need some help with that. He'll be released in maybe a week." the doctor said.

Thank God. 

He was getting soft. Becoming so worked up over injuries like that when he had suffered worse himself. 

But a captain wanted to protect his team. He couldn't help it.

Gideon promised himself that if Mitchell ever scared him like that again, he would punch him in the face. And then he would punch himself in the face for getting scared. Because he shouldn't be so scared. 

\----------------------------

Mitchell was released a week later, as promised. But he wasn't going to be on duty for some time. Well, maybe he needed a break anyway. 

The doctors had stuffed him full of medicine, given him a crutch, and instructed him to change his bandages often if he didn't want to risk infection or the bones not healing properly. 

Mitchell already lost an arm. He wanted to keep everything else in top shape. 

He had tried to recount the events, but everything became a blur the moment the grenade went off. He vaguely remembered lying on Gideon's shoulder. Which was a weird thought. Maybe he dreamed that part.

Now, sitting alone in his room, he was wondering something. How was he supposed to change his bandages? The medical officials had given him enough gauze to make him a mummy. The problem was wrapping it around his torso. The fingers on his good hand weren't healed yet, and his ribs were still half shattered. It was painful just to lift his arms.

Mitchell removed his shirt and carefully unwinded the wrappings, flinching with almost every move.

There was a knock at his door. 

Damn, that was bad timing. 

Mitchell hopped on his good leg and wrestled with the doorknob while balancing on one foot. The knocking became more insistent.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he called, and tore the door open.

It was Gideon. 

"Oi, Mitchell. What the fu- where the hell is your crutch?"

"I left it in the corner and I was trying to change my bandages but then you knocked so I didn't have time to--" Mitchell attempted to explain, but Gideon interrupted.

"You bloody idiot, you were trying to change your bandages by yourself? You think you can do that with three broken fingers and four broken ribs?"

Mitchell hung his head sheepishly.

Gideon sighed. "Sit. I'll do it."

Mitchell immediately did as he was told. Gideon pulled up a seat in front of him. Gideon took the gauze from Mitchell's hand and began to wrap.

Mitchell was... surprised. At a lot of things. First, the fact that Gideon came to his room. Normally he wasn't anywhere near unless he wanted to brief Mitchell on something. Second, Gideon was helping him change his bandages. Helping him. Third, Gideon was actually being... gentle while he was doing it. His touches were light. There was an even amount of pressure on his ribs. He barely spoke, and when he did, it was something like, "here, move your arm a bit," or, "too tight?" What was happening?

Gideon stood to wrap the upper part of Mitchell's torso. The movement forced their faces close. 

He had finished wrapping. He sealed the bandages. 

But he didn't move.

Their faces were still only inches away. 

Their noses were almost touching. Mitchell could hear his every breath, and he could hear Gideon's as well. 

Then Gideon placed his forehead against Mitchell's. His hands slid up to either side of Mitchell's face.

"Don't fucking scare me like that again," Gideon said quietly.

Mitchell nodded and swallowed hard. His heart was pounding at an unbelievably fast rate.

Gideon tilted his head, just slightly, and moved forward just a bit more. Now their lips weren't even an inch apart. 

Their lips barely brushed each other, and Mitchell's breath became shaky. This was happening. 

Gideon moved his face forward more. 

Now their lips were against each other. 

They were kissing, and Mitchell was unable to even think right or move right, but he was kissing back.

It was slow and quiet, but it felt right. 

Then they broke apart, and Mitchell could hear his own heart in his ears. 

"You scare me like that again, I promise to punch you in the face." Gideon whispered. 

Mitchell laughed breathily. "Yeah."

It felt weird, what just happened. But it felt good. And Mitchell would be lying to himself if he said that he wouldn't want it to happen again and again.


End file.
